


So Much Left Unspoken

by jadefervidus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fantasy Sex, Light BDSM, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:09:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6931831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadefervidus/pseuds/jadefervidus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While researching a new monster, you decide to play with Balthazar's mind reading powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Much Left Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> In order for this story to work, please assume that Balthazar pulled a Gabriel and went into hiding before Cas tried to kill him, and he reappeared some time after the boys found the bunker.
> 
> Title comes from 'I Get Off' by Halestorm.
> 
> Also, please note that I'm Australian, so if you spot a u or s in the 'wrong' place, that's why. :)

The library of the bunker is cool and quiet, only the tapping of computer keys and the swish of turning pages keeping it from being totally silent. Hours before, Castiel had appeared in the bunker with a lead on a case - men were being found mutilated in a forest somewhere in Minnesota - but quickly changed his mind when he saw the pile of potential threats on the library table. Much to Sam's chagrin and Dean's irritation, Castiel summoned Balthazar to do the legwork. The French angel had scoffed but disappeared obediently. Dean had attempted to tell Castiel to shove it, but the angel merely zapped away, leaving the fuming hunter behind. You weren't sure what had happened between Balthazar and the Winchesters - it was before you knew any of them - but even now, hours later, the hostility hasn't entirely disappeared.

"He better not've skipped out on us," Dean complains, running a hand over his face. "If he does, I'll pluck him like a goddamn Thanksgiving turkey when I catch him." 

"Relax, Dean, he's only been gone a few hours," you reason, glancing up from your paper.

He rolls his eyes. "Call me crazy but I'm pretty sure it doesn't take an angel that long to zap to Minnesota and back."

"We don't know what it is, Dean, if it's anything," Sam says.

The oldest Winchester cusses under his breath but returns to his computer. You and Sam share a look, Sam shrugging helplessly at your pointed look, before you return to your newspaper. A string of lottery winners in Arizona - could be a crossroads demon making deals, could be random chance. A dead body with its heart missing in New York - could be a werewolf, could be a straight up psychopath. A teenage girl claiming to communicate with the dead in Montana - could be a clairvoyant, could be a con artist. You groan, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose, while you toss that paper to the side and pick up another.

Some time later, the soft flutter of wings announces Balthazar's return.

"About goddamn time," Dean grumbles, scowling at the angel.

Balthazar rolls his eyes, striding forward to snatch the bottle of Johnnie Walker off the table. A glass tumbler appears when he snaps his fingers, the bottle chinking against crystal as he pours himself a generous amount.

"Well?" Sam asks impatiently.

"Best I can tell, she's a hulder," Balthazar says, swirling the whiskey around in the glass, looking entirely disinterested in the conversation. He leans with his hip against the table, one arm across his chest.

"A what?" Dean huffs.

The angel rolls his eyes. "A _hulder_ , seductive little Scandinavian forest nymphs that like to kill the men that disrespect them." Balthazar sips at his drink, making a face at the glass in consideration before taking another. "So, naturally, I suggest the two of you pass this job on to someone else."

Dean scowls. "How do we kill it?"

Balthazar shrugs. He huffs when the oldest Winchester scoffs. "I'm not the goddamn Encyclopaedia Britannica of mythological monsters. Believe it or not, there _are_ things that I don't know about."

"But if anyone knew how to do it, it would be you," Sam reminds him. "Don't think we don't know about the heavenly arsenal you have stashed somewhere."

"A fat lot of good that will do you if you don't know _what_ will kill her," the angel points out sarcastically.

"Then help us figure it out!" Dean growls.

"I'm sorry, am I in the wrong vessel?" Balthazar asks. "Do I look like Castiel to you? I have better things to do than be your personal little researcher. Get your little guardian angel to do it."

You sigh loudly, drawing the angel's gaze to you. "Balthazar, please. We don't have time to be researching Scandinavian folklore right now. Help us out," you beg.

"Then leave the little wench alone," he says, like the solution is obvious, "There are worse things than a few idiotic men falling prey to a nymph."

"Balthazar." It's your turn to growl now.

He regards you for a moment before he scoffs, tipping back the last of his liquor before pouring another two fingers into the crystal. "You're lucky I like you, _chérie_ ," the angel sighs.

 _Thank you_ , you tell him mentally, smiling when he tilts his glass towards you in acknowledgement. "Okay. Sam, Dean, you guys check the web. From the sounds of it, we'll have more luck with that. I'll try to find something in here that'll help."

Balthazar sinks into the chair to your left and sets his glass down with a quiet _chink_. With a snap of his fingers, a small pile of books fall on the table. There's around ten of them, maybe twelve. He shrugs when the three of you look at him in surprise. "You asked me to be helpful, right?"

"Yeah, just wasn't expecting you to listen," Dean says, grunting when Sam smacks the back of his head.

Stifling a chuckle, you lean forward to grab a book, waving it in the angel's face. "See? Moving faster already."

* * *

Hours later, you eyes are starting to water from staying focussed for so long and your head is starting to ache. You've yet to discover any information that Balthazar hadn't already told you. Dropping your book on the table, you lift your arms over your head and lean backwards in a stretch, listening the vertebrae of your spine pop with sick satisfaction. You chuckle at the disgusted look Sam sends you.

Rolling your neck to ease its tension, your gaze gets caught on the body next to you.

Balthazar is leaning against the back of his chair, a book cradled in his left hand. He looks as gorgeous as ever, blond hair messy and facial hair scruffy. His black blazer draped over the back of his chair, leaving him in only black jeans and a grey shirt cut low enough to give you peek of his chest. A small smirk is twisting his lips, letting you know that he's well aware of your gaze and the thoughts beginning to swirl in your mind.

You think right now is as good a time as any to play with his angel telepathy.

The thought makes warmth swell in your stomach.

 _Oh, Balthazar_ , you sing song at him in your head.

The angel doesn't startle, blue eyes casually flicking up from his book. A gentle pressure pokes at the base of your skull and you nod minutely, giving him permission to invade your mind. _You rang, darling?_

A shiver slips down your spine at the low timbre, echoing in your head like ripples in a pond. He'd explained why he sounded different in your head once - mentally communicating with you was an angel power, therefore his voice was different; nowhere near what his real voice sounded like but not as human as his vessel. Regardless, it never failed to turn you on. _Thank you for staying._

He smiles softly. _Are you alright? You look exhausted._

You shrug. _Just need a little break._

From the smirk that curls his lips, you know the tone of your inner monologue is not lost on him. _Pray tell, my darling, what kind of break do you have in mind?_

You push back on the pressure of him in your mind, forcing him out until you can decide what you want to show him. He goes without a face, head tilted slightly to one side, still smirking. It takes you a few minutes to pick a scenario from the multitude you have stashed away. You nod at him; the pressure returns and you immediately throw your thoughts at him.

_Balthazar lying on his back on the table, fingers clutching at your hips as you ride him mercilessly, hips rocking back and forth so hard your clit grinds against his pelvis with every movement. Your breasts clutched in your palms, finger teasing and pulling and pinching at the little peaks atop them. Your head thrown back, panting at the high ceiling, begging your angel to fuck you, to never stop touching you, to make you his and only his. His lips bitten red, saliva slicked and open, groaning in a language you don't recognise, biceps and forearms straining as he helps you move._

The angel blinks in surprise before an absolutely filthy grin appears. _My, my,_ he drawls in your head, eyes sparkling, _I always pegged you for an exhibitionist, my love._

You smirk, absently turning a page of the journal before you to keep up the charade. It's almost a minor miracle that Sam and Dean hadn't looked up yet, given that neither you nor Balthazar had made any noise in the last few minutes. _Luckily for you, I suppose, since I'm sure most of Heaven has heard me taking the Lord's name in vain at some point_ , you tease.

He places his book on the table gently, one hand curling around his glass from earlier and the other resting on his opposing forearm. His smirk is downright feral. _Show me something else._

Reaching for your water bottle, you observe him. His eyes are dark but his pupils are normal - he's into your game but still firmly in control of himself. That's not what you want. _You could go looking for what you want_ , you remind him.

Balthazar shakes his head. _No. I want you to show me._

You think about it for a moment, nursing your water. The pressure in your head is disappears once again until you nod.

_You're lying on your back on some generic motel bed, legs spread wide with two fingers buried knuckle deep in your pussy, the other hand scratching along your stomach, eyes focused on Balthazar's clouded ones as you fuck yourself for his pleasure. His hands rested on your knees, merely touching but capable of restraining if you dared to disobey his orders. His kiss-swollen lips spill praise, spitting profanities about how you look and what you're doing to yourself and to him. He's hard, of course he is, straining against his slacks with his chest heaving but every single atom of him is focused on you and the dirty wet noises of your pussy._

_More_ , he growls.

Your eyes slip shut of their own accord, the heat that had been swirling steadily in your body suddenly overwhelming. Trying to keep your breathing even is a challenge but you manage, not wanting to alert your companions of what you're up to. When your eyes open, the angel is looking at you so intensely they immediately drop.

Your next scenario's theme is an easy choice.

_Against a door, his grace pinning your arms to the cool wood above your head, legs spread as far as they can go while still keeping you upright. Balthazar on his knees before you, fingers digging into your hips and tongue flicking rapidly over your clit in a rhythm that has your head colliding with the door with a dull thunk. Your back arching, stomach muscles clenching and unclenching in pleasure, thighs trembling. Balthazar snaking a hand around your body to slap your ass, groaning in approval at the hitch it causes in your breathing. His second hand mimicking the first, holding your body to his mouth as it pulls your peak from you, your mouth shouting his name to the heavens._

Balthazar's eyes are impossibly dark when you look back up, fingers curled tightly around his glass of liquor. He says nothing, as eager as you to keep this interaction private, but the stiffness in his shoulders is so obvious you're once again surprised neither of your companions has noticed.

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, smirking slightly when the angel across from you zeroes in on the movement. The action seems to steady you, almost as if it's keeping you grounded. _See something you like,_ you think at him.

His eyes roam over your body for a moment before settling on your flushed chest. He nods almost imperceptibly, smirking when his eyes flick back up to yours. Although he hasn't responded to your jab - either verbally or mentally - you know he's daring you to continue.

 _In the shower on your knees, Balthazar's fingers holding your hair out of your face as you wrap your lips around his cock. The water is pleasantly warm, rolling in little rivers over his shoulders and chest, the tiny droplets of the off spray misting your face. His mouth is open, eyes half-closed in a look of ecstasy you could never tire of. The flesh gliding along your tongue is warm and smooth, the skin faintly salty. Your fingers curl around his thighs as you slide further down, the depth flirting with your gag reflex. You head bobs and your angel groans, fingers twisting in your tresses to guide your mouth even closer to his body._ ****

_Good heavens, ma chérie_ , he groans mentally, _you might just be the death of me. I'll bet my wings that your panties are absolutely soaked. Aren't they?_

You nod slowly, rocking your hips ever so slightly until the seam of your jeans pushes against your clit. _Yes_. Even your internal monologue sounds breathless.

 _Mmm, I knew it._ His eyes slip closed. _I'll make you a deal, sweetheart. Show me one more and I'll get us out of here. D'accord?_ His eyes are blazing when they reopen, the blue shining almost impossibly bright.

He retreats from your mind before you can respond, so you bob your head in response. It's almost a challenge, but it doesn't take you long to pick something that will bring him to his knees.

Figuratively.

_The two of you are rocking in tandem, Balthazar's arms wrapped tightly around your waist and yours around his shoulders, one hand fisted in his hair, holding on for dear life at the sensations swelling inside you. His lips pressed against your throat, licking and nipping and sucking the skin, imprinting marks that won't disappear for weeks. The span of his wings fills the room, feathers illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning coming from the window. They twitch and spasm with every thrust, shuddering when you reach out your fingers to stroke them, tugging gently and pulling moans and whimpers from Balthazar._

"Sweetheart, are you alright?" Balthazar says suddenly, feigning concern. "You don't look so good."

You try to keep the surprise off of your face as both Sam and Dean look up from their computers to look you over. "You do look a bit crappy," Sam frowns, "maybe you should take a break?"

"You know what? I do feel a little out of it," you pout, pouncing on the excuse. Internally, you're doing a little happy dance and in your periphery, you're certain you see Balthazar smirk into his glass as he takes a drink. "I might just go catch a quick nap, if that's okay?"

Sam merely smiles and nods, while Dean waves you away with his eyes already back on the screen. "I'll come get you in an hour or so," he tells you. "We gotta get this done."

You wave a hand above your head, already half way out of the room and dashing towards your bedroom. The air in the bunker is cool as it whips along your skin, but it does nothing to calm you. Finally your bedroom door comes into sight. You throw it open with slightly too much enthusiasm and hope that Balthazar is making his own excuses to leave.

Your worries are for naught - your angel is standing at the end of your bed when you enter the room. The door has barely closed before Balthazar has you pinned against it, your face pressing into the grain while he fumbles with the zipper on your jeans. His body is curved into the lines of yours, chest against your back and groin against your ass. His legs are holding yours open. You can feel his teeth dragging across your neck almost instantly and your head tilts to the side, silently begging him to continue.

Balthazar's hands finally get your zipper open, shoving the denim and your underwear to the floor with a firm push. "My dirty little vixen," he grumbles against your throat, hands now sliding back up your thighs, nails digging into the flesh, "what am I going to do with you?"

"Hopefully," you have to pause to moan, canting your hips forward into his hold, "you're gonna fuck me."

Calloused fingertips finally slide over your pussy. "Fucking _hell_ , princess," Balthazar's voice is rough, almost a growl. His index and middle fingers draw circles around your clit with practised ease. "Can you take me? I can't wait."

Your head bobs your consent, pulling a wince from you when the wood scratches your cheek. "Yeah, _yes_. Come on, _please_. I want it. _Fuck me_ ," you beg breathlessly.

A soft _snap_ echoes throughout your bedroom and suddenly your clothes have disappeared. And so have his, you quickly learn, when his bare thighs returns to being pressed against yours. His hands curve around your waist, pushing down gently to arch your ass towards him. "I swear to all that is holy, my love, that you are the most exquisite thing all of my eyes have ever seen," Balthazar coos while rotating his hips, lining your bodies up without much effort.

" _Balthazar_ ," you sigh, breath catching when he finally slides in.

The curse that punches out of his chest is Enochian. He lets you adjust, rocking just slightly, waiting until you give him the go ahead.

And why not return to your game while you're at it?

 _God, Balthazar, fuck me,_ you think at him, panting softly, _I want you all over me. Fucking fuck me. I want to feel you for days. I want bruises and scratches and bite marks. I want you so bad I think I'm going insane. I need it, need you. Need you to fuck me until I come so hard I can't see straight. Until I forget my own name. Until I forget everything but yours. Please._

You're busy applauding yourself for your eloquence when Balthazar withdraws, only to slam back in so hard your shoulder bumps against the door. You hiss but your angel clearly knows you can handle it, setting a rhythm that has you seeing stars almost immediately.

Your angel moves deep and slow, gentler than his first thrust but still hard, hips rolling seamlessly in a way that must look downright sinful to an observer. A moment and a dozen thrusts later, his hands slide up your ribs to cup your chest, using his grip to pull you back against his chest. One hand continues upwards over your throat, covering your mouth just before a choked groan slips past. The other slides back down, over your ribs and stomach to slide down to your clit, pressing down in hard circles with his fingertips.

"You always feel so incredible, darling," Balthazar whispers in your ear.

You're so worked up that it doesn't take long, maybe a dozen passes, before you're coming, high pitched panting echoing in your throat as your hips jerk and your thighs tremble. His teeth digging into the crook of your shoulder as he follows, body stilling.

"I think we just redefined 'quickie'," you snicker breathlessly, forehead resting against the door. "I'm pretty sure that was, like, two minutes."

Balthazar huffs a chuckle and his teeth retract, lips pressing kisses over the irritated skin softly while his hands caress your hips, soothing away any lingering tremors. "Are you alright, my love?" he asks after a few minutes.

A soft noise of agreement echoes in your throat. You reach a hand back to clutch at your angel's hip, squeezing the flesh reassuringly. "Always."


End file.
